


Fruitful Endeavors

by Sheeana



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fertility Issues, Magic, Multi, Post-Canon, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: Years after the Blight, Rosamunde Cousland asks a favor of Morrigan.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland/Morrigan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Fruitful Endeavors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this treat!

"You came," was all Rosamunde said, when Morrigan pulled back her hood and revealed her face. 

It was well past midnight. The small courtyard off the east gate was dark. There was a chill in the air; autumn was well on its way into winter. Rosamunde felt it even in her heavy, fur-lined cloak. The guards had left her, as she had requested, but she knew not whether they were truly alone. There were eyes everywhere in the palace. Months she'd been home from her long journey, yet she found herself unused to the rhythm of life in Denerim. There was a freedom on the road, even in the regimented life of a Warden Commander, that a queen would always lack. 

"You asked me here, did you not?" Morrigan spoke curtly, but Rosamunde saw it for what it was: nervousness, apprehension. Not one word had passed between them since the Dragonbone Wastes, all those years ago. Since Morrigan had vanished, and left Rosamunde with nothing but unanswered questions and a seemingly unending quest. It was almost as though Rosamunde had become a different person twice over since then. So much had changed in her, in the world.

There was a question she could not help but ask. It was foolish and she knew it. It had been foolish at the eluvian, too. As then, her yearning to know the answer was too great to resist. "Where is Kieran?"

Morrigan didn't answer her immediately. She seemed to struggle to answer her at all, until finally she turned her head aside and said simply, "He is not here."

"I see." She ached to press for more. She knew Morrigan too well to try. It would spook her, and she would close herself like a book.

"May we not speak of other things?" Morrigan said.

Rosamunde heard the plea in her voice and gave a small nod of encouragement. "Of course."

"I have a question, then, if you care to answer. Did you find what you were seeking on your quest? I had heard whisperings of a change among the Wardens."

"You have been speaking to the Wardens, have you?"

"Passing birds may hear such things."

Rosamunde smiled. "Yes, I found what I was looking for. Your book was very helpful in setting me on the right path. Unfortunately," she said, grimacing, "It seems the Taint's effects on the body cannot be entirely cured so much as _halted_ , which leaves the kingdom of Ferelden in a somewhat awkward position, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Morrigan immediately tensed, but Rosamunde reached for her arm, gently wrapping her fingers above her elbow.

"This has nothing to do with Kieran," Rosamunde assured her quickly, when she seemed ready to bolt – perhaps to transform into a rabbit and bound away into the bushes where Rosamunde could never hope to follow, or a spider who could scurry away through a crack in the wall.

"Then I fail to see what you hope to achieve with my presence. I have no other help to offer save what I gave you those many years ago when you found my eluvian."

"There is... a favor I would ask of you. _We_ would ask of you." Her cheeks warmed at the thought of what she was about to say, but there was nothing for it but to forge onward. She shouldn't have written the letter if she intended to balk now that Morrigan had come. She touched her belly. "There are certain magics, as I understand it, that can aid in the conception of children. I am told they are not difficult to perform. However, as Alistair and I continue to lack the talent to perform spells, we required the assistance of a friend."

"I... I will need you to repeat that, I think. Are you saying you asked me here to help you with a _fertility spell_?" A burst of laughter came from Morrigan's lips, as if unable to control herself. It was followed by another, until she was laughing hysterically, her hand pressed over her stomach as though she were mirroring Rosamunde.

Rosamunde's cheeks reddened until she nearly felt like covering them with her hands. All of a sudden she relented, and joined in with Morrigan's laughter. She laughed until she could scarcely breathe, until her belly ached from it. If the guards found her here now, they would surely think their queen had been driven mad in her time away from the palace.

"Are you certain you wish my help with this?" Morrigan said finally, when she'd gotten herself under control again. "There are mages far more competent than I in this particular realm." 

"There are none we trust."

Morrigan had already opened her mouth to reply – or perhaps to argue – and it stayed that way, until she seemed to realize her expression and closed it. The hurt that flashed in her eyes was familiar, expected. Rosamunde knew better now than to try to pick at the scab over the wound. She meant to deflect, turn the topic elsewhere and give Morrigan space to regroup - until Morrigan unexpectedly _smiled_. It seemed Rosamunde was not the only one who had changed in their long years apart.

"I suppose I should appreciate the trust you place in me, then. Very well. Take me to your husband, so I may get this over with quickly. I have no desire to linger long."

As they traversed the dark and silent halls of the palace, passing closed doors and silent guards, Rosamunde wondered how this would appear to unknowing eyes: the queen leading a hooded figure through the halls in the dead of night. There had been a time when it would have been far more scandalous to bring a mage to her private chambers. Some would still be wary, of course, even in this new age, but she feared no retribution from the Divine. Even if the Circles hadn't been disbanded, she couldn't imagine Leliana taking issue with relying on a friend in a time of need.

She glanced at Morrigan as they neared the royal bedchambers. A trusted friend, she had said, and had meant it, but - there had been a moment, once, when she'd thought something more might have blossomed. A golden mirror, too much wine, an escaped giggle. It had passed, as all such moments did if not acted upon.

There had been another moment, as Morrigan had walked away after revealing her true purpose. Rosamunde had hesitated, then. Had thought to ask to accompany her. To join in her ritual, for better or for worse. That moment had passed, too, and Rosamunde had spent the night alone with her own dark thoughts.

There had been yet others. Moments when Rosamunde couldn't help but press her hand to her mouth and laugh, as Alistair and Morrigan traded ever sharper barbs on ever more inane topics. When the tension had become so taut she'd been sure it would soon break, and then – and then what?

And then it had ended. Morrigan had slipped away after the battle, and Rosamunde had thought no more of it in the years that followed, save in passing moments of whimsy and nostalgia.

"Oh, why do you give me that look?" Morrigan complained, bringing Rosamunde back to the present.

"It's nothing. Here we are. Alistair?" She rapped sharply on the door. "I've brought our guest. Try to behave yourself."

There was a pause, and then a clicking sound. The door finally cracked open. Alistair peeked through. "Only if she does," he muttered.

"Ah. There is a voice I did not miss," said Morrigan. 

Rosamunde sighed and pushed at the door; Alistair gave way immediately to let them in. The room was lit only by the light of a single candle, flickering and casting long shadows on the tapestries and bare stone walls. It also cast a certain sort of mood over the whole affair. Rosamunde's cheeks flushed once more. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Morrigan had followed her inside.

"Now, if you would kindly lie down, that I might perform the spell and remove myself from your bedroom before you engage in any sort of foolishness, that would be appreciated," said Morrigan. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Rosamunde arranged herself flat on her back near the edge of the bed. She only barely remembered to take her boots off first. Alistair sat beside her, one eyebrow arched in a skeptical, familiar way. She would have found it endearing, had her nerves not been acting up so much.

"'Tis simple enough. Hold yourself still." Morrigan placed her hand over Rosamunde's belly. For a moment, there was nothing but a warm weight over her middle. She inhaled sharply, tensing and bracing for the pain she thought might soon follow. But there was no pain, in the end. The only thing she felt was heat emanating from Morrigan's hand and diffusing itself throughout her stomach, and then her whole body. Alistair found her hand and gripped it as she gasped, his fingers threading between hers.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Morrigan removed her hand and straightened. "There, 'tis done. Go about your business, then. I will be on my way."

"Wait," Rosamunde said. She sat up quickly, ignoring any dizziness that ensued. As she swung her legs off the side of the bed, she reached out and caught Morrigan's arm just as she was turning to leave.

"Wait?" Morrigan stared at Rosamunde's hand as if it were a live serpent that had just latched onto her with its fangs. "What could I possibly want in this room, now that my task has been completed?"

"I-" Rosamunde hesitated. She could feel as she flushed, heat rushing up her neck and across her face. "I had thought- you might like to stay. For the night, here, with us."

"Stay? For the night?" A note of something strange had risen in Morrigan's voice. Distress, perhaps, though Rosamunde could hardly believe the notion of sharing someone's bed would cause _Morrigan_ distress. She had seemed so practical about the matter the first time, after all. "Was this your idea?" she asked Alistair, with evident distaste.

"Sharing my bed and my wife with a witch? No, it wasn't my idea."

"Oh, is this what you would have me _wait_ for? To be insulted?"

"Hush, both of you," Rosamunde said. That seemed to shut them both up. Alistair looked chagrined, Morrigan even more irritated. Abruptly, Rosamunde reached for Morrigan's arm and pulled her forward into a _kiss_. She acted, as she had many times before, purely on instinct and impulse. At times it had served her well. At times it had led her astray. She pressed forward nevertheless. 

Morrigan tensed. It seemed for a moment that she would pull away. Rosamunde could hardly blame her for it if she did. Yet suddenly, nearly _unthinkably_ , she relaxed and reached for Rosamunde, her fingers fumbling for purchase. She kissed back as if desperate for it. As if she had been wandering the desert and Rosamunde was the first water she had seen in days. Her grip tightened on Rosamunde's arm. Only then did she abruptly break away, breathless. She brought her hand to her lips, her fingers ghosting over them as she stared at Rosamunde.

Silence reigned over all three of them for a time. It was broken only by the sound of Alistair swallowing audibly, once.

"I... I must go," Morrigan said at last, turning aside from them both – but she seemed to hesitate, neither committing to leaving nor staying. She took a single small step toward the door. Before taking another, she glanced back over her shoulder at Rosamunde, though she said nothing further.

From where he was perched on the bed, Alistair's hand shot out to seize Morrigan's arm. Their eyes met. Rosamunde knew not what passed between them. It seemed a wordless age before either of them broke their shared gaze. Whatever it was, Morrigan relented. Alistair released his hold on her, and she sat down on the side of the bed, her eyes dark and unreadable. She looked up to Rosamunde and wet her lips.

Rosamunde picked up the candlestick holder at their bedside and blew out the flame.

*

Morrigan was packing her things into her traveling bag when Rosamunde found her in the small gatehouse just inside the east gate. The sun had begun to rise, but was not yet high enough for most of the palace to be up and about. Its hallways were still dark and quiet. It seemed Morrigan had meant to slip away the morning after with Rosamunde and Alistair none the wiser.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked softly. Morrigan seemed to start at the sound of her voice. "Did you not enjoy yourself last night?"

"Enjoy myself?" Morrigan laughed. It was a nervous, anxious sort of sound, not the warmth of good humor. She continued with her preparations to depart, kneeling down to lace up one of her boots. "If I had any such inclinations, perhaps there is some explanation for it. Perhaps the magic took root in me, as well. Perhaps I was driven mad with lust under the full moon."

"Perhaps," Rosamunde said, smiling and not giving in to Morrigan's needling. "I have heard such magics exist."

"Good. Then we agree, and I shall be on my way."

"You needn't go, you know. There is more than enough room here for you and Kieran both." 

Morrigan froze as she straightened, and scowled. "You take no issue with another woman having slept with your husband and borne his child? You are more foolish than I thought, then."

It was funny. After all these years, Rosamunde could see now that her sarcasm was nothing more than a thinly-veiled bandage over an old hurt. She touched Morrigan's arm. "I take no issue with you having saved us from certain death, nor does he, however he might grumble about it. Come home, please, Morrigan. It's been so long."

"You cannot be serious. Inviting a boy who would threaten your own heir into your home. A boy who would-"

"Your son would be no threat to me," she interrupted gently, "Not least because he is _Alistair's_ son. You cannot think I would treat his child the way he was treated."

"And what does he have to say about this ridiculous proposal?"

"The same as I, though I suspect it may take him a great deal more time to get around to saying it to you."

"I wonder, has there been some sort of poison slipped into the royal larder? Something that has addled both of your good senses, not that Alistair has any?"

Rosamunde shook her head. "At least know that you needn't take refuge in an Orlesian court, should you find yourself wanting for a place to call home."

"Is that the problem, then? You fear a foreign influence?"

"I fear you may be lonely if you hold yourself away from those who care for you. I fear Kieran never knowing his father out of _needless_ fear for the thoughts of a woman who would only see you happy. You have no idea how much I've missed you, all these years."

"I may have... an idea, of what you speak," Morrigan admitted.

Rosamunde had heard that thickness in her voice only twice before. Once on an otherwise unremarkable evening in their camp, when Morrigan had first called her a friend. Once at the gates of a burning city, in a hurried and regretful farewell. When she received no further response, Rosamunde reached out and tugged Morrigan forward into an embrace. She stiffened for a moment, and Rosamunde feared she would pull away. Then she lowered her head to Rosamunde's shoulder. Her hand came up to rest over Rosamunde's waist.

"I will... think about it," she said finally.

"Then I will ask for no more than that." Satisfied, Rosamunde released her. They stood looking at each other. For a moment they might as well have been two lost young women again, setting out together on a journey to a destination neither understood. Morrigan seemed about to say something. Finally she simply smiled faintly and turned to go. Rosamunde knew better than to try to stop her this time.

After taking a deep breath and releasing it, she went to find her husband, who was exactly where she'd expected he would be – already awake and in his study, staring down at his desk with a creased brow and an expression of intense concentration.

He glanced up at her when she came to lay her hand on his back. His eyes flicked down, very noticeably, to her belly. "Do you think...?"

"Only time will tell." She lifted her hand to the back of his neck, where she stroked her thumb against his hairline, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. They were all of them older now. Wiser, hopefully. Far more tired, certainly.

"Did you ask her about-?" Alistair sounded nervous, uncertain.

"I did."

"And?"

"She'll think about it."

He looked as though he might say more on the matter. A quip about Morrigan's unwanted presence in their home, most likely. But in the end he only smiled ruefully, and looked down at the parchment spread out across his desk. "That's that, then. Will you help me with this official correspondence to the Viscount of Kirkwall? The advisors tell me it's not proper diplomatic etiquette to correspond in pictures of stick men."

"Did you say the Viscount of Kirkwall?" said Rosamunde, raising her eyebrows. "In that case, you should go ahead and draw the pictures, if you like."

"Oh, don't tell me you know him, too. Is there anyone you didn't meet while I was stuck here doing all that boring governing the land business?"

"No, I don't know him personally. I knew a Warden who does, though. Will you ask him to say hello to Carver Hawke for me?"

When she looked up from leaning over Alistair's shoulder, there was a raven perched on the windowsill. It tilted its head, as if watching them, listening to them.

She smiled as it spread its wings and took flight.


End file.
